


In which Fyodor is drunk

by forwantofanoxfordcomma



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Bears, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwantofanoxfordcomma/pseuds/forwantofanoxfordcomma
Summary: “They are regular brigands, especially Dólokhov,” replied the visitor. “He is a son of Márya Ivánovna Dólokhova, such a worthy woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a carriage, and set off with it to visit some actresses! The police tried to interfere, and what did the young men do? They tied a policeman and the bear back to back and put the bear into the Moyka Canal. And there was the bear swimming about with the policeman on his back!”War and Peace, Book One, Chapter Ten.Or, what happens when Fyodor Dolokhov starts drinking.
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	In which Fyodor is drunk

Though their relationship is extremely complex (with many _many_ layers) in the shortest terms possible, Fyodor is Anatole’s impulse control. This makes it difficult for either to function responsibly when Fyodor is drunk. Case in point. 

“Fedya--!” Anatole says, his eyes glittering like beetles in the dim lighting. 

“Anatoly?” Fyodor says, his words slurring as he squints at Anatole. “No! It’s Bruin!” 

“Bruin!” Pierre cries from across the street. He stumbles into a lamppost and sways against it for a moment. Ah, Pierre. Fyodor loves Pierre. He’s so stupid and lovely. 

“Bruin!” Fyodor says. 

“Bruin!” Anatole joins in. Pierre cheers.

“Who’s Bruin?” Fyodor whispers to Anatole, trying his best to keep one foot in front of the other. Anatole presses a warm hand to Fyodor’s waist and suddenly Fyodor’s head is spinning and he doesn’t think it’s the alcohol this time. The lamplights spin too, but that’s definitely the alcohol. Hmmm. Fyodor wants more vodka. He wonders where the bottle he was holding went. He checks his hands and is surprised to find them empty. 

“Bruin!” Pierre cries again. 

“The bear!” Anatole laughs. Fyodor has to think for a moment about why Anatole would just randomly burst out about a bear, but then he remembers asking and feels silly. Fyodor wonders silently if Bruin has enough honey to eat, as there isn’t much honey in the cold streets of St. Petersburg. Anatole laughs again at Fyodor’s confused expression and Fyodor leans back against his friend, craving their closeness. 

“The bear!” Fyodor says suddenly. “The bear.”

There is a beat. 

“Toto, where is the bear?” Anatole stops. Pierre stumbles ahead of them and Fyodor uses the pause to press a hand to his temples in the hopes of slowing down the spinning. 

It is almost an hour later when they find Bruin hidden behind the same tavern they had begun the night in. Stevens-- the Englishman Fyodor had drunk under the table-- is cowering in the window when they arrive, shouting expletives in French at the trio. 

Fyodor remembers his mother teaching him French. He calls the man a chalice. 

His mother may have learned French from a Canadian. 

Fyodor whistles for a troika as Pierre wrestles Bruin to the floor. Anatole watches Fyodor closely, ensuring he doesn’t lose his footing on the slick cobblestones. 

They end up trying to push the bear into the carriage, demanding the driver take them to Mlle Sofya Samoilova’s home. She is an actress of great acclaim. 

“To the Samoilov residence, my good man!” Anatole says, a jovial smile on his face.

“Sonya is quite dear to me,” Fyodor says confidently to the driver. Bruin growls, snapping his jaws at Pierre who snarls back in an equally feral manner. Fyodor doesn’t mention that the Sonya who is dear to him is a very different Sonya than the famous actress. 

When Fyodor looks back at Anatole, who is standing ram-rod straight. Fyodor wonders when he might have stiffened and how he had escaped notice. Fyodor pats Anatole on the collarbone in the hopes of calming him down, but Anatole takes it to mean that Fyodor wants to stand on his own (which he most certainly does not!) and steps away from Fyodor. Fyodor immediately begins to sway and falls back onto Anatole who frowns at him. Fyodor smiles up at him, crows feet crinkling around his eyes. Anatole looks away, flushing slightly, and Fyodor tries to brand the sight into his mind.

Pierre and Bruin negotiate with the troika driver while Fyodor moons around, staring listlessly at the oblivious object of his affections. Anatole turns back to the troika, nudging Bruin with his foot.

“Anatole--” Fyodor says. He blinks.

“Sirs?” comes a voice from across the street. Fyodor frowns. The troika driver sighs in relief. 

It is a policeman. He wears a smartly pressed uniform with little silver buttons and shiny black boots. Fyodor looks at his own boots, ragged little things. He wiggles his toes. They peek out at him through a small hole near the tip. Fyodor likes his toes. He peeks back in at them too.

“My dear Bruin,” Pierre says with gravy- gravity- gravitas. “This good gentleman wants you to exit the carriage.” 

Bruin roars. 

The policeman pales.

“Anatole--” Fyodor whispers, tugging at Anatole’s sleeve. 

“Fedya?” Anatole says back, matching his volume and serious tone. 

“Anatole--” Fyodor says. “Bruin doesn’t like him.”

“Yes,” Anatole says. “I don’t like him either.”

Fyodor smiles. 

Pierre yanks Bruin back out of the carriage and the troika driver hurries off. Fyodor thinks that it’s a real shame that not every troika driver has the constitution of dear Balaga. Then again, that does make their usual troika driver all the more special and Fyodor all the more appreci-appricious-capricious- thankful for him. 

The policeman looks quite ill when Fyodor turns his attention back to him. 

“Bruin!” Pierre says.

Bruin jumps. 

Fyodor watches in wonder as the bear leaps. It’s not graceful or particularly high, but a clamoring leggy kind of leap. Fyodor reaches out and Anatole bats his hand away from the furry monster. Fyodor pouts but lets his hand drop to his side. 

Pierre giggles. 

“Toto,” says Pierre. “Annnnatole, I have an ideeeeeah.” 

Anatole grins. 

“Me too,” he says, smiling.

Fyodor ignores their giddiness and focuses on Bruin. The bear has begun to calm down by now, sniffing at the terrified police officer. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Fyodor asks. 

Bruin snuffles. Fyodor furrows his brows. 

“Why should it matter to you?” the police officer interrupts, squinting at Fyodor who begins to bristle.

“He was talking to the bear,” Anatole says. 

Fyodor wants to swoon, but he thinks that he might trip and have trouble getting back on his feet again. He decides to compromise and gaze adoringly at Anatole rather than swooning. Anatole carefully pushes Fyodor to lean on a nearby lamppost. Fyodor stumbles and sways where he stands and decides instead to sit on the curb. Anatole watches for a moment to make sure Fyodor is alright. Fyodor safely swoons from his seat on the cobblestones.

“I got the rope!” shouts a cheerful Pierre from across the street. 

“Rope!” Fyodor crows.

“Rope!” says Anatole.

“Rope?!” says the policeman.

“Rope.” Pierre nods sagely.

Anatole holds the policeman in place while Pierre merrily winds the rope around the uniformed man and the bear, tying them back to back. Fyodor claps delightedly. 

“Rope!” he says, laughing aloud. Anatole smiles at him. 

They meander along the road, heading towards the Kanal Myoka with their two hostages. Pierre is the perfect warden, strong enough and drunk enough to keep the bear and the officer tied together. They reach the Potseluev Bridge and Anatole has to grab the collar of Fyodor’s shirt to keep him from tumbling over the edge. 

The canal is wide and the water is cold. Fyodor can feel it leeching the warmth from the air. Still, there wasn’t much warmth in the air to begin with, which is probably why the water was so cold! Fyodor gives himself a mental pat on the back for being so clever and then he gives himself a physical pat on the back because he didn’t feel the mental one. 

Anatole pushes the policeman into the Myoka. Pierre pushes Bruin at the same time, ensuring that the ropes don’t break before they even get into the water. Fyodor waves down at the waves. Heh. Waves.


End file.
